


Cubicles

by nymrod



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, i love bob, office!AU, spideypool week
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-02
Updated: 2015-09-02
Packaged: 2018-04-18 16:57:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4713527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nymrod/pseuds/nymrod
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Office AU </p>
<p>Twice, Peter walked past the door, and both times the kid looked in and smiled.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> office AU for spideypool week. kept the first chapter pretty short, mostly because it's a long while since i've posted fic and the first time i've ever posted for this pairing, and i love these boys and want to know if i've gone off-the-rails-ooc before i build any steam. comments would be great!

“Keys… phone… where i– oh, wallet…” The car horn blared a third time from the street below the window and Wade shut his eyes, muttered a little to himself, then opened his eyes and nodded. “Alright.”

Hurrying to lock his front door, he fumbled his keys and got some flakes of peeling blue paint stuck to his sweaty hands, which stayed even after he stuck his hand in his pocket along with his keys. He smiled a little, sheepish, when he swung open the outside door at the bottom of the stairs to the apartment block and could hear Weasel’s shouts of “c’mon, Wilson!” and “You’re making me late!”

“Morning, Weas,” he said, looking less and less apologetic while his small smile grew into a happy laugh. Weasel just rolled his eyes, starting the car and speeding away from the curb before Wade could fasten his grease-stained seatbelt.

While they drove, Wade went quiet, then stayed quiet, and Weasel kept glancing sideways at the beads of sweat on his friend’s forehead and upper lip, at the dampness of his shirt that could just be seen beneath his arms. He felt his face twitch, but after two years of dealing with Wade’s issues he wasn’t going to let his mask slip now. The last thing either of them needed right now were emotions.

“We, uh,” Wade took a break to clear his throat, “we picking up Bob?” Weasel didn’t need to look at him to know that Wade was looking carefully away, facing the window but not seeing anything outside of it. He was rubbing his palms as slowly and discreetly as his could against his slacks.

“Nah, he’s got an appointment this morning, dentist’s I guess.” Wade let out a shaky breath, clearly straining not to be heard. “He’ll be in later.”

“Alright,” Wade replied, just as they pulled into the parking lot of the office block they both knew like the backs of their hands.

 

“It’s very good to see you again, finally, Mister Wilson. We were very pleased to hear that you had decided to start working with us again.” The boss’ office was just as Wade remembered it (from past beratements), except that the layer of dust over everything – bar everyday stationary, the computer’s beaten up keyboard, etc – had grown thicker.

“Thank you, sir. I’m glad to be back.” He wasn’t. The sweat patches on his shirt were getting ridiculous, and there was a secretary in the room with him and the boss, a woman he didn’t recognise from his years at the company. He could feel her eyes on his skin - his ugly, burnt-to-a-crisp skin, on his head and his hands and under his clothes. He fought the urge to let his eyes flutter closed against the judgement, kept his breathing even, his expression formal and friendly, and made a note in his thoughts to avoid her eyes on the way out.

Just then a dark haired kid came bustling in, carrying a stack of files and an emptied-out paper bin and looking hassled.

“Mister Fury, uh, the guys downstairs gave me this bin but they said they want it ba- oh, sorry, sorry, didn’t realise you were interviewing.” The kid blushed a little, his eyes flitting between Wade and the boss and the files slipping a little lower in his grip. His eyes hovered for a second but he didn’t flinch at the scars, not even a little, and Wade wanted to give him a hug.

 

The accident wasn’t anybody’s fault, not really. This little old lady in the apartment right next to him accidentally left the gas on one Saturday morning. She’d been in a hurry, getting picked up by her daughter to go into town to pick up groceries. Wade had spoken to them outside on the pavement before they left, leaning in through their car window and cracking jokes. He’d just finished a jog and was going to make pancakes, and his neighbour had gushed to her daughter about how damn great Wade’s pancakes always smell on Saturday mornings.

The fire didn’t start until around forty minutes later, and Wade can’t remember what the police had said started it. Everyone else in the block was out or had been evacuated, or lived down on the ground or first floors where they were safe from the flames and the smoke and could leave safely. He’d been unlucky.

Wade doesn’t remember much of his time in the hospital, but he knows that he spent a long time in there, and that Weas was there. Bob too, sometimes, and his neighbour visited one time, but she could barely find any words to say and Wade knew that she was scared of him, knew that it was because of the scars. He hadn’t seen his face yet, but if his arms and legs were anything to go by… Well, after that he didn’t see her any more.

Weasel helped him find a new place, when he got out. Went and bought him new clothes and dishes and food to stock his cupboards; recruited Bob to help assemble IKEA furniture while Wade sat propped against the wall on the opposite end of the room, weakly bouncing a tennis ball against the wall opposite then catching it loosely in his gloved hands, repeating his again and again with Bob’s gaze burning into the side of the oversized hood he wore over his head and face.

It took a long time to let go of the hoodie around the house, but Weas was always hanging around, pushing him, and Wade hated him for it at the time, but it worked – sooner than anybody had expected, Wade was doing his own trips to the shop and getting up early enough to eat breakfast, taking showers regularly and occasionally exposing his head, face, hands and arms all at once.

Now, he was getting his old job back.

 

“If you’d be so kind as to wait outside, Mr Parker, we’re just wrapping up in here.” The kid nodded, cheeks still a little pink, and left. Wade felt a tug at the corners of his mouth when he heard the distinctive sound of a file dropping on the ground, followed swiftly by another, then a soft curse and a lot of shuffling. The boss was looking towards the door with disdain, but maybe a little bit of amusement. Wade figured the kid’s shadow could be seen through the glass panel.

Hoping to wrap things up, Wade said, “Thanks again, boss. Means a lot that you’re letting me back on the team after so long,” hoping he sounded genuine. Not that he didn’t mean it, but it was hard to be enthusiastic about this, especially with the new girl’s x-ray eyes trained on him.

“Well, thank you for returning. Give me a moment and I’ll get Parker to show you to your desk.” With that, the boss stood, motioning for Wade to do the same and guiding them both towards the door. The mantra in Wade’s head was: ‘avoid her eyes, avoid her eyes, don’t even look at her’, as he’d promised himself. When the door shut behind them, blocking her view and allowing him to concentrate on Fury’s words again, he felt a little better.

Even better were the doe eyes which he found trained on him, the kid nodding as instructions were given. Wade felt a little worse about the sweat patches, but he didn’t think Parker would mind that much. He looked like a student, tired and a little untidy, shirt tucked into jeans instead of normal office slacks.

“Hey, uh,” Wade said, trying his best to remember how human interactions normally go, how they used to go for him, back when he was _charming._ “I’m Wade. Wilson.” He coughed.

The kid seemed a little brighter now than he had when the boss was talking to him. “Peter Parker. I’ll show you to your desk, if you’re ready.” He still had an armful of files, the paper bin now resting on the floor. Wade wanted to carry the files for him, or something, but didn’t know how to ask without it sounding like he was gearing up to ask the kid out to prom. Not that he really got the chance, because the kid was spinning around and walking away, chattering away while Wade caught up. Wade realised pretty quickly that he was getting the newbie speech.

“Oh, uh, it’s cool, you don’t have to do that. I worked here before,” he rushed out, watching as the kid – Peter, he reminded himself – ran out of steam, stopping mid-sentence to raise his eyebrow a little and say, “huh”. They’d come to a stop just in front of a doorway.

“Alright, no problem. Here’s your desk, anyway.” Wade took the room in, noticing that there were only three other desks inside, along with the once that Peter had directed him to. There was a white haired man working at one, and he didn’t bat an eyelid when they walked in. “You’re in here with Jack, Bob and that’s Nathan. Any questions?” Wade shook his head. If anything was different then he was sure Weas or Bob would explain it to him. “Alright then. I’ll see you around.”

 

The rest of the day went okay. The other guy - Nathan - ignored him completely, and when Weas came back he didn’t ask him if he was okay or if he needed anything, just gave him something to do. Wade was grateful for it.

Bob came back at lunch time with a swollen mouth which leaked a little at the sides and kept him from being able to reply to Weasel’s wise cracks without inspiring even more laughter and cruelty. Wade smiled along, and then joined in when Weasel started to eat his PB&J with vigour, both of them closing their eyes and letting out loud groans of pleasure around every bite until Bob was scowling, slumped in his chair with his arms crossed petulantly and Weasel was laughing again. Nathan had left the office for his lunch hour – a regular occurrence, said Weas.

Twice, Peter walked past the door, and both times the kid looked in and smiled. Wade felt his chest grow a little tighter every time he thought about it, and was glad that neither of his friends had noticed it happening.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here it is, part two. this is messy and i haven't really proof read it at ALL, but it's longer than the first chapter and hopefully charming enough to keep you all entertained. again, comments would be really appreciated - especially the constructively critical ones.

Wade was pretty sure that Bob was scared of him now, since the accident. He didn’t know whether it was the scars or all of those times at the hospital when Wade had screamed until his throat was raw and Bob was shaking with damp, red eyes and excusing himself from the long moments of weighted silence which followed - just knew that it wasn’t the same between them.

 

Before all that, Bob had harboured a big, huge, little-girly, sparkly-eyed crush on Wade. He was always making heart eyes across the office while Wade was working, something which Weasel would poke fun at him for until his face went a fierce, sore-looking shade of purple-red and he dropped his chin down to his chest, slouching to cover his head with his hands. Wade would always tell Weas to play nice, flashing Bob a sparkling grin when he looked back up, cheeks settling into a sweet shade of pink which always clashed with his green or yellow shirts.

 

Wade had thought about fucking him, once or twice - how easy it’d be, how sweet he’d be about it, blushing like a virgin at prom with big happy doe eyes - but he’d always thought better of it. Besides, back then it wasn’t all that hard for him to find somebody to take home from one of the busy New York bars or clubs at the end of those lonely weeks whenever he felt like it.

 

For a long time, after the accident, Wade had felt like nobody would ever, ever look at him the way Bob had again. There was a time towards the end of his hospital stay when he drifted out of one of his light, fractured naps, bleary and tired but suddenly alert, to overhear a hushed - yet heated - conversation in the hallway outside the door. Straining, he heard snippets:

 

“are you talking about? Pull… together! That’s still Wade in th...” Weasel.

 

“... know, but… -ust don’t know if I can! It’s not the same.” Bob.

 

“Just… -ink about what you’re saying, alr-... be awake soon. Go home, Bob.”

 

The door began to push open and Wade had pretended to be asleep. Eventually he didn’t have to pretend any more, drifting off against the will of the daggers in his gut. Wade had grown accustomed to the day-to-day hero-worship, the lingering glances, and now - Bob? Bob couldn’t stand to look at him? It left a bad taste on his palate, and he had to grind his teeth to keep himself from screaming or crying or something equal, because Wade had worked hard on his body and his smile and his humour after high school, on proving himself, and now that wouldn’t mean shit.

 

So, when he woke up, Wade resigned himself to the fact that he was never, ever going to kiss, have sex with, or date anybody ever, ever, ever again, and that was that.

 

Unless…

 

On Wade’s fifth day back at the office (a Friday), Weasel and Bob both disappeared out of the office after Nathan did. Fast Food Friday, Bob had explained, then invited Wade to come along with them to the McDonald’s just up the street - his expression had looked more doubtful than hopeful, so Wade gave him the response he was clearly expecting and declined. Weasel’s neutral expression didn’t change, but Bob looked a little sad.

 

They left, and Wade ducked under his desk to pull his water bottle from his bag. While he was down, there were two neat little raps on the open door. Wade hit his head on the underside of his desk when he shot back up in his chair to investigate, and got a kind little laugh in response. His face burned when he saw who was there.

 

Peter was slouched against the frame, head tilted over to the side to rest there, too. One arm was crossed over his torso and tucked underneath it was a binder. He looked more empathetic than amused with a tired, sweet little smile on his face and his eyes shining.

 

All of the breath leaves Wade’s body at once and he can’t figure out how to suck it back in.

 

“You too, huh? One of those days, I guess. How you settling back in?” Peter pushed his stupid dork glasses up his nose a little and Wade had to look at his computer screen so he wouldn’t fuck up his reply. His face felt warm and he hoped that the kid couldn’t tell.

 

“Yeah, haha,” Wade swallowed. “I’m good, thanks. Nothing’s really changed except the people, and I’ve got Weasel and Bob, so.” He stopped there, and swallowed again - mostly so that he wouldn’t curse himself out for sounding like an idiot. If Peter noticed, he didn’t show that he had. Wade kind of got butterflies.

 

“I haven’t seen you around much. Outside of this room, I mean.”

 

“I bring lunch with me. I’ve just been uh, working. In here. Trying to find my feet again, you know?” It sounded like bullshit - and was bullshit - and he could already tell that Peter was a smart kid, could figure him out. Wade marvelled at the way the kid’s expression refused to budge, and hoped that Peter knew tell it was appreciated.

 

“Bob and Jack. Uh, Weasel. You known them a long time?”

 

“Oh, yeah, from way back. Used to pay Weasel to do my homework in high school.” He chuckled a little, finally meeting Peter’s eyes again. They were warm, little pools of dark, smooth honey under his specs.

 

The flush from Wade’s cheeks was radiating down into his collar now, his embarrassment growing - and the urge to end the conversation and shoo Peter down the hall growing with it. But the kid was so sweet, and he was treating Wade so normal, too. How could he let his paranoia push that away?

 

A sudden burst of confidence allowed Wade to keep speaking. “So, what actually is your job?”

 

Smiling wryly, Peter said, “I’m Mister Fury’s personal slave, more or less. Never really got given a job title. Boss knows my dad real well, they used to be business partners, and I needed a job when I finished my degree. ‘s only ‘til I’ve heard back from the labs I’ve applied for jobs in.”

 

“Oh, a science geek, huh?” Wade’s eyes were gleaming with a little bit of mischief. He was caught up in the moment, and in Peter’s eyes, which gleamed back at him. They made him forget himself, forget what Peter was seeing. “Should’ve guessed, I suppose, with the glasses and everything…”

 

“Hey! Cut that out,” but the kid was laughing. “I mean, yeah, I guess. In high school I was the one doing other people’s homework. Except I wasn’t as lucky as your friend Weasel to be getting the assignments from anybody like you. No cash for my troubles.”

 

Wade had to look away again, blushing a little hotter at the vague near-compliment and afraid he might say something mushy if he kept looking into those bambi eyes.

 

“So, uh, I better go find somewhere to sit and eat this.” Peter raised the arm which had been hanging at his side to reveal a beat-up, cling-filmed sandwich in his hand.

 

“Sure,” Wade said. Then, before he could stop himself, “but, I mean, if you wanted… eat it here? I don’t think they’ll be back for a while. There are, uh, seats.”

 

“Um. Okay, yeah.” He moved towards Weasel’s chair. “Thanks!”

 

Sitting comfortably across from Wade, back to the door, Peter asked,“So, why didn’t you go out to lunch with them? It’s Fast Food Friday.”

 

Wade paused for a second, then figured, ‘what the hell’. “I uh, don’t really get out much. You know, with,” he gestured weakly at himself, “you know.”

 

Peter opened his mouth to say something, then seemingly thought better of it. He nodded.

 

The pair lapsed into a comfortable silence, Peter eating his sandwich neatly and Wade swigging from his water and idly clicking the mouse in and out of various files on his computer. He had to force himself to keep his eyes on the screen and not on Peter’s face. His adorable, sweet, sleepy little--

 

“Uhhhh.”

 

Wade’s head snapped up to the door. He silently thanked God that he hadn’t been underneath his desk this time. “Oh. Uh, hey Weas. And Bob.”

 

Peter swallowed down his last bite of sandwich, eyes wide. He quickly composed himself, but his cheeks were all pink again. “Hey guys. How was lunch? I uh, I gotta get back to the boss now, but uh, it’s good to know you’re getting on okay, Wade. I’ll see you later.” He didn’t really look at anybody’s face as he gathered up his binder and quickly left.

 

Weasel just raised an eyebrow at Wade in a way that suggested that there would be words about this later, then reclaimed his seat. As he shakes his mouth to wake up his computer, the corners of his mouth turn up in a way that Wade probably isn’t supposed to notice, but does anyway.

  
  
  


That weekend seems long. It’s drags on and on, where his old weekends used to fly by before he could blink. He tries to keep himself busy, moving the furniture around in his apartment and very carefully not thinking about how relieved he feels when Sunday shifts into nightfall.

 

Peter doesn’t drop in on Monday. At home that night, Wade very aggressively bakes himself some delicious cupcakes, eats the icing while the cakes are still in the oven, then eats three of the cupcakes while they’re still hot enough to burn the inside of his mouth. The other three will sit in their baking tray on the kitchen worktop until morning, untouched, before being slung into the trash. He still really, really isn’t thinking about it.

  
  
  


On Tuesday at around 10.45, when all four of the guys in the office were each working as hard as they ever do, there came a little cough at the door. When Wade looked up and saw that face again, he couldn’t help his expression, knew he looked like an idiot- but Peter beamed in response, and something started knocking hard against Wade’s ribs.

 

“Hey. Just to let you all know,” his eyes trained on Wade and nobody else, “the boss sent out an email about new deadlines and he wants confirmation from everybody that they received it. Just tap out a quick reply, like ‘OK, thanks boss’, alright?” He seemed to linger a little as he span around and walked away from the door and to the next office on the corridor.

  
  
  


They carried on like this for a few weeks, with Wade never leaving the office all day and Peter showing up at the door every few. He spent four more Fast Food Fridays hanging out in the office with Wade while the others went out before Weasel snapped.

 

October had rolled in and Peter was taping a flyer to the wall in the corridor, directly opposite the open office door. Wade’s eyes were all big and moony-looking and, after spending a ridiculous amount of time securing the poster, Peter shot Wade an impish grin before walking away with a small pile of flyers still in hand. Weasel was a little surprised that he didn’t just go ahead and tape one over Wade’s computer screen.

 

“I swear to God, Wade.” Wade stopped biting his bottom lip and seemed to have snapped back into this century. He was trying his best to look innocent.

 

“What?”

 

“Wade. Wade, I swear to GOD.” Weasel was glaring daggers at this point, his voice bearing a sharp edge. “If you don’t stop mooning and ask him out already then I will be forced to take your life. It’s really very, very important for my own personal health and wellbeing.”

 

Wade just blinked.

 

“Are you kidding me? Really, Wade?” Weasel was getting kind of shrill now, and had winced at what he sounded like, even to himself.

 

Wade was embarrassed and started doing this annoying mumbling thing, and when Weasel asked him to speak up (“What, is your mouth full of fucking bumble bees? Jesus”), said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 

Weasel’s eyes couldn’t possibly have rolled back any further in his head. He’d slid down in his chair and groaned loudly too. “He likes you! Trust me, okay,” his voice kind of soft now, “he does. Just ask him.”

  
  
  


The next couple of visits from Peter were pretty uneventful, and they both earned Wade a lot of long-suffering sighs and eye rolls from Weas. By the next Friday, though, Wade figured that he had given himself enough pep talks.

 

Peter had sauntered in as Weasel and Bob were leaving, having got past the point of knocking, or even hanging back a little and waiting in the doorway to be invited in. Wade couldn’t help his little grin at that.

 

The smile must have looked a little too tight around the edges, though, because the skin between Peter’s dark eyebrows creased in concern.  

 

“You okay, Wade? You look nervous.”

 

“Oh, yeah, I’m fine. I uh, wanted to speak to you?”

 

Peter’s frown had gone deeper at that. “Oh. Is uh, is everything okay?”

 

“Ask you something, I mean. I wanted to ask you a question.” Wade had hoped that would sound better - less ominous - and, seemingly, it had worked. Peter looked a little lighter, his expression turned more curious than anything else.

 

“Go on.”

 

A deep, shaking breath, then, “IwastalkingtoWeas-” holy shit, holy shit, stop that. “Um. I mean. Weasel said that, uh, that you might… That maybe we should- me and you, should. Uh.” He closed his eyes for a second, took another breath. “That we shou-”

 

“Sure, what time?” Wade’s eyes had opened again, and he blinked.

 

“What… time? What?”

 

“For our date. I’m free tonight, if you are. What time?”

 

“Um. Eight?”

 

“Okay. You gonna pick me up?”

 

“Um.” Wade blinked again, and then he blinked twice very quickly.

 

“I’ll email you my number. I gotta get back now, got some things to do before lunch break’s over, but you gotta call me tonight, before eight. Alright?” Wade agreed mutely to this with a dazed little nod of his head. “Alright. See you later.” That particular smile, the one before he left the room, was the most dazzling one he’d sent Wade so far.

  
Wade slid down in his seat, let his head fall back against the top of the chair, and stared unseeingly at the ugly yellow ceiling fan for the remainder of the hour.


End file.
